


Hope Floats in a Tank

by kriadydragon



Category: A-Team (2010)
Genre: Friendship, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Missing Scene
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-04-15
Updated: 2011-04-15
Packaged: 2017-10-18 02:33:08
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,024
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/184028
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kriadydragon/pseuds/kriadydragon
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Missing scene from the movie. They've got Murdock back. They're a team again.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Hope Floats in a Tank

**Author's Note:**

> Major spoilers for the movie. If you haven't seen the movie, plan to one day and don't want to be spoiled then read no further.
> 
> Just a little something that popped into my head, because it was awfully cold out for someone in only a T-shirt and pajama pants. I guessed on the slippers because you never really see what Murdock's wearing on his feet.

The two most important components to any plan were detail and hope. Lots of hope. There was no such thing as a perfect plan, because plans came together but it sure as hell wasn't super glue holding them together. There would always be holes, providing enough wiggle room for anything to happen. Plans were like rivers, always flowing, the terrain always changing, and you were stupid to think you could fight the current.

Details helped. A lot; like charting the river before setting out. Surveying the VA hospital and the base, compiling a list of every vehicle for land or sky that would be available the day the plan went into action, scouting a suitable location open to receive any type of transportation while putting them in close to Berlin, having a secondary vehicle packed with supplies and ready to receive. The tank had been a bonus, a lucky find, a plan coming together, and Hannibal had stepped up the retrieval date to put that tank in their hands, just in case.

But once you set sail, you could only hope that the river took you where you needed to go.

Ending up twenty miles from their landing site with a tank to transport them over rough terrain was more than even Hannibal had hoped for. All in all, one might call the plan perfect. But Hannibal was a closet perfectionist, seeing the minor flaws within the greater pieces. They had to abandon the tank five miles from their destination. The terrain wasn't ideal even for a tank, and the only road would've taken them the long way around to their destination while cutting through two towns. At this point, the less conspicuous they could be, the better.

But it also meant hoofing it the remaining five miles, a cake walk under ideal conditions, except it was a good twenty degrees out, probably less. They were shaken up, high on adrenaline that would fade fast leaving them cold and exhausted, BA was twitchy and Murdock only had a T-shirt, pajama pants and slippers between him and the cold. Hannibal wished they had brought supplies, at least something warm for Murdock – hell, at least grabbed his robe before piling into the tank - but for an operation such as this they couldn't afford to carry anything but the clothes on their backs. The robe had been forgotten in the bedlam of _trying not to get killed_.

No plan was perfect.

“Hoo, boss, that was the best fun I've ever had and it's not even my birthday!” Murdock crowed, popping through the tank's hatch like a jack-in-the-box as though the next adventure lay just on the other side.

Hannibal smiled. Flaws or no flaws, the plan had accomplished its intent. They'd gotten Murdock. The A-Team was back together.

BA needed a little help getting out, the ride down and lingering traces of the sedative having turned his legs to Jello. Hannibal wondered briefly where Murdock had gotten the pill. Stupid question. This was Murdock. Just because a pill went into his mouth didn't mean it continued the journey down his throat. Hannibal chuckled to himself, hoping BA was too out of it to remember this.

Once out with BA leaned up against the nearest tree to rest, they hid the tank as best they could with branches and other detritus. It was a crappy job at best, but should hold until Hannibal made the anonymous call about an abandoned tank in the woods. Murdock scurried all over the tank while cooing to it sweetly like it was his favorite dog. When it was time to go, he hung upside down from the barrel, hugging and petting it.

“It's okay, girl. You'll be just fine and home before you know it.” Murdock tilted his head back. “Colonel, I don't feel right leaving her all alone in the middle of no where. What if a bunch of wolves come sniffin' around?”

“Wolves!” BA snapped. “Damn it it's a damn tank, fool! Wolves don't care about no damn tank.”

“Double negative. That means they do care. Can't we take her with us, please, pretty please?” Murdock hugged the barrel tighter.

Hannibal, fighting hard not to smile so much because their situation was far from over (but he'd missed this, and doubted he would ever get enough of it) clapped Murdock on his upside-down shoulder.

“She'll be fine, Captain. I'll make sure of it. She's a tough girl. And she can fly, remember?”

Murdock perked up. “Oh yeah.” Then he dropped feet first from the barrel to the ground. He patted the barrel. “You be good, now, and don't go jumping out of any more planes, you hear?”

Face chuckled, BA shook his head and Hannibal gave up and let the smiling commence. Murdock was a kid on a sugar high, tackling Face in a tight hug then leaping onto BA's back. The latter, of course, being a bad idea what with BA still spooked. He shrugged Murdock off hard, landing the pilot on his back in a sprawl. But Murdock being Murdock ignored it and bounced back to his feet. He turned to Hannibal and saluted him.

“Colonel.”

Hannibal saluted back. “Captain.” It felt good, really good, the happiest Hannibal ever remembered being since that fateful day in Bagdad, when the world went to hell and Hannibal couldn't see the plan.

They started off, Murdock commenting in the pseudo British accent he loved so much on the brisk morning air (even though it was late afternoon) and how alive it made one feel. He was all over the place, in constant motion, typical Murdock with a little something extra to keep the blood flowing. Face, still riding the waves of his own adrenaline, joined in, chasing Murdock down to hug-tackle him back. They tried to get BA to play along, but he was having none of it. Hannibal finally told them to leave BA alone so he could settle down.

But adrenaline and Murdock's hyper-active nature getting his heart to pump faster only went so far in temperatures like this. A mile in and Murdock started to slow. Two miles and he had his arms folded tight across his chest, his shoulders hunched. He started shaking, his breaths juddering to the vibrations of his cold body.

Hannibal frowned, the happy moment gone as quickly as it had begun. Face bumped Murdock's shoulder with his own.

“Cold, bud?”

“Y-y-y-yeah. L-l-little.”

“A little!” BA barked. “Fool, you are shakin' like a damn chihuahua in a freezer.” He threw his arm across Murdock's shoulders and pulled him in close. “See why it ain't cool to go crashin' planes like that?”

“Th-th-that w-wasn't m-my fault. I d-d-d-don't c-c-crash p-planes. Other p-p-people m-make em c-crash. N-n-not m-me.”

BA chuckled – definitely no longer shaken – and lifted his hand to mess with Murdock's pilot cap. Face pressed in close on Murdock's other side, adding his body heat. Hannibal contributed his jacket against Murdock's protests.

“We'll take turns,” Hannibal said, just to placate. He had no intentions of taking the jacket back. He didn't need to, being in a long-sleeved shirt.

It wasn't much - the muscles of Murdock's back bunched and rigid under the jacket, his shoulders vibrating and his breathing more like intermittent gasps than actual breaths – but it kept him going.

One mile to go, however, and Murdock started moaning, even whimpering, as though in pain.

“Let's step this up, boys,” Hannibal said. “We're almost there.”

They broke into a light jog, something they probably should have done earlier but Hannibal hadn't wanted to risk them losing steam too soon, and Murdock's slippers were no doubt about as affective against rocks and dried pine needles as wet paper. The adrenaline had worn off, Hannibal's legs shaky under him and the cold sharper. But the abandoned farm land was within sight at the bottom of a gentle slope. Hannibal closed the distance between himself and his boys, ordering Face to go on ahead as he took his place next to Murdock.

“You with us, Captain?” he asked.

Murdock's teeth chattered. “W-w-with y-ya.”

Only when one of them stumbled (maybe Murdock, maybe BA; at this point they were all so tired Hannibal couldn't tell) did the three of them slow. Hannibal threaded his arm through Murdock's to keep him up and going, the lower half of Hannibal's bicep pressed tight against Murdock's ribs, letting him feel every heaving, shuddery breath. On the other side BA sagged and panted just as heavily.

They barely stepped foot from the woods onto a dirt road when the car pulled up in a spray of dust, Face behind the wheel.

“Gentlemen, chariot number two,” he said with a crooked, weary smile.

“About damn time,” BA sighed. He and Hannibal gently loaded Murdock into the front seat while Face took the opportunity to replace Hannibal's jacket with Murdock's jacket, draping it over his shoulders. How Face managed to get most of their stuff, Hannibal would never know. The kid was a magician. Murdock attempted to wrap the jacket tighter around himself but Face wouldn't let him.

“Sorry, bud, but you need the heat to hit your chest. Don't want all that cold blood going to your heart.”

“Th-that why I f-feel l-l-like my vein's are f-f-full of s-s-s-slush?” Murdock mumbled, and the knot of worry that had tied itself behind Hannibal's sternum loosened. Murdock able to talk was good. Murdock able to talk and joke was better.

Hannibal eased himself into the back seat next to BA. Hannibal barely had his door shut when the car peeled off, kicking up another cloud of dust in their wake. Nothing was said, everyone too spent and cold to waste the energy, with BA and Murdock already dozing. Hannibal must have dozed as well, though he could have sworn he only blinked. One minute they were on the road, the sky a sleepy gray, the next it was the twilight hours and they were pulling into their pre-established lake-side hide out.

“Home sweet home, people,” Face said tiredly as he pulled up alongside the rickety wooden warehouse. He started easing what had to be a stiff body from the seat. “I'll get the place warmed up.”

While Face did that, Hannibal woke BA to have him help, then went to the trunk and fished out the bag they'd packed for Murdock. The car was still running, the heat still blasting, and cramped or not Hannibal wanted Murdock to stay where it was warm. Murdock was too out of it to complain, let alone realize his commanding officer was helping him _change_.

“Ready, Hannibal!” Face called from the door.

With Murdock in protective layers, Hannibal escorted his pilot into the safety of the warehouse. The place smelled of water and woodsmoke, the source of the smoke from the barrel fires - five in all – surrounding four cots set up in the corner near the door.

Hannibal had also planned the retrieval with time enough to allow his men to rest. Hannibal lowered Murdock onto one of the cots nearest a barrel. A large crate in the center of the ring of cots serving as a table was covered in packages of hot dogs, buns, a bag of apples and canteens of water. BA was already happily roasting a hot-dog on a bent coat hanger. Face was stretched out on his own cot at the foot of Murdock's, hands behind his head, his turn to doze. Murdock was curled up as much as possible, a ball of blankets with a head, and thankfully no longer shivering.

As Hannibal prepared his own dog, he studied each one of his men – BA without his Mohawk, his gaze distant but thoughtful. Face, overly tanned but features as sharp as his intellect. Murdock, the eccentric pilot like a tuckered out kid. All of them back where they belonged.

Their situation was a long ways from over, with a lot of river left to go and the rapids still ahead, but Hannibal had no qualms about basking in the moment. He had his boys back, and that gave him reason to hope.

The End


End file.
